


Something

by circlesarecool



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Depressed Sherlock, Heavy Angst, M/M, Multi, One Shot, One-Sided Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Other, Sherlock-centric, Short One Shot, Slightly POV, Suicidal Sherlock, Suicidal Thoughts, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 16:04:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9499418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/circlesarecool/pseuds/circlesarecool
Summary: Sherlock went to bed. He didn't have intentions of sleeping. He had intentions of weeping.





	

Sherlock kicked his sheets off of his sticky body. He felt cool air envelop him, coaxing him to sleep. 

But why sleep? 

He could just drift into slumber peacefully, and never wake up. Maybe the pain wouldn't chase him to death.

Sherlock wanted the aching to go away. He despised its existence. 

Sherlock loved the smarting. He would feel empty for it to leave him.

So many emotions. Too many emotions.

He flopped onto his side. Glancing over the edge of the bed, he could see his discarded clothing. During the night he must have torn them off, being strangled enough as is.

Sherlock reached out in front of himself. He grabbed at the air as if something was there. 

He pulled his arms to his chest, cradling nothingness. The gap between his sternum and forearms not only existed in front of him, but in his heart as well.

The heart he discovered because of something.

Sherlock felt like he was crying. Tears were pooling at his side. His broken sobs tore through the sorrowful air. He was engulfed in silence. He blinked.

He wanted to cry. It always made him feel euphoric, ironically. Sometimes he would just lock himself in his room, think about anything that made him doleful, and bawl. 

He could not cry now. His tear ducts refused. 

Sherlock felt a pang of fury surge through himself. It wasn't fair that he couldn't cry. It wasn't fair that something wasn't in his arms. It wasn't fair.

He tore at his sheets. Nothing could tie him down, and nothing could stop him. 

As he placed his quivering hand on the doorknob, he fell. He collapsed on the floor.

He had remembered what could stop him. 

Something.


End file.
